Where Islam spreads, freedom dies

The Times has an article today about yoof crime in London, written by a Kids Company mentor.

Here are some extracts:

I am in my late thirties, a father and a managing director at a global investment bank. Since my eldest son died in 2006 I have been a mentor through Kids Company to five boys in South London. They are all now 16 and 17. Both they and I have never been more afraid for their lives.

...[] We went out for dinner last week in the City and all expressed fear of the escalating revenge killings in their area. Sixteen teenagers have been knifed to death so far this year in London.

...[] Cofi (not his real name) will not go out any more after the 15-year-old Temidayo Ogunneye was stabbed to death in the area in May. He has been sitting 12 GCSEs and stays at home with his father. The only college courses he will consider are those where he would travel south from Dulwich to Orpington or Bromley.

Pat’s mother has recently moved the family out of London because of the violence. Mark and Timo are both now Muslims who spend a large time under the auspices of the paternal figures of the local mosque. As a result neither drinks or does drugs and both spend a lot of time doing martial arts and boxing. Neither understands the tenets of the faith, but both appreciate the security, discipline and structure that it brings. Some may find this frightening but at a personal level I can see how it improves their lives.

The article is illustrated with a posed photograph of 4 hoodie yoofs, 3 whiteboys and 1 negro. Despite this, the article says that only one of the four boys mentioned in the article was white. So, for the sake of political correctness, the proportions have been inverted.

When I first met Cofi he was very overweight, smelt of mothballs and had very bad body odour. His father asked to meet me early on and I soon realised that what I thought was mothballs was the smell of crack cocaine. Cofi’s father met me behind grilles to the flat and warmly invited me in.

He was bare-chested and wearing dirty pyjama bottoms. The house was empty except for a large TV and crack paraphernalia. He offered me rum in an old McDonald’s cup. Although a shell of a man, he loved Cofi and in a slightly broken but warm Nigerian accent talked fondly about “my son, my boy”. The stench in the flat was overpowering. I went to be sick in the loo, but the loo was full of nappies and the bath was now used as the convenience.

The story of Timo, who is now a Muslim:

Three months into mentoring Mark he brought Timo to our meeting at Nando’s in Camberwell. Timo was a tiny skinny boy who always had his hands in his sleeves. He ate with such an appetite that I realised something was wrong. It transpired that Timo lived with his six-year-old sister at the home of his aunt, an African spiritualist with two children of her own. She was convinced that Timo and his sister were actually white and possessed by the devil. To prove it she would scrub their skin with a wire brush to show that they were white underneath, hence the covering of his arms.

Timo was bathed in disinfectant and the aunt’s children were encouraged to kick and beat him and his sister while the aunt prayed over them. Both children were starved and not allowed to sleep in beds. Through Kids Company and social services, Timo’s aunt was arrested and charged with neglect.

Of course nowhere in the article is there any mention of the role immigration policy has played in creating this environment. It is clear that savage immigrants from third-world countries, and their descendants, are replicating the conditions of their home countries here. It represents a kind of Africanisation of London. But no one discusses the role of immigration policy in bringing this change about. It is just assumed that this de-Europeanisation of our cities is something we have to shrug our shoulders and put up with, like rain falling.